


there are oceans and waves and wires between us

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Car Sex, Drunken Confessions, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Pre-Stanford, Stanford Era, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder. The action said “it’ll be okay" and “please don’t make this weird” and “I care about you,” all at once. If Sam hadn’t already realized he was in love with his brother, that would’ve been the moment he fell.(Or, six non-linear snapshots from before and during Sam’s first quarter at Stanford.)





	there are oceans and waves and wires between us

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Stanford-era Sam mix of the same title that I recently made, found [here](https://8tracks.com/sometimesalways/there-are-oceans-and-waves-and-wires-between-us). I thought I had written everything I wanted to about this particular era in SPN canon, but apparently not. I hope you enjoy both the mix and the fic. Highly recommended listening while reading. <3
> 
> Title by Rilo Kiley. Intertitles from various tracks seen on the mix.
> 
> Note: since originally posting, I added a paragraph or two, hence the updated posting date. This is what happens when you’re still having too many feelings *facepalm*

1\. _Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same_

Orientation is a whirlwind. It's like being dropped into the deep end of a pool without a life jacket when you can’t swim. Arriving on campus, straight off the bus and still red-eyed and thrown from his last interaction with Dean, was a somber event. Sam had quietly checked into his residence after walking down Palm drive (he’d never even seen a real-life palm tree before this, and now he was observing hundreds) and getting completely lost on campus, winding his way around buildings and fountains and courtyards. Meanwhile, people had been loud and bustling around him; parents helping their kids, happy for them, his fellow students excited and smiling. 

Sam receives his orientation packet, ID card, room key, and name tag. He ignores questions and comments such as "is anyone else in your party?" and "be sure to tell your parents to move their vehicle to the Galvez parking lot".

The walking tour later that morning just barely covers the enormous scope of the campus. Sam could be anybody here, or he could be no one at all. The Meyer library tour was pretty fantastic, though, and Sam couldn’t wait to just curl up in a corner with some books. 

Convocation is crowded and overwhelming. Sam’s never seen this amount of people in one place in his entire life. His family unit consisted of three total. His experience at school’s growing up was predominantly in rural U.S. towns, where it was easier to get away with fudging academic records and explaining away why he traveled so much and never stayed in one place for more than three months at a time. He’s never attended a school in a big city and he’s certainly never experienced any space so vast and all-consuming as Stanford University. By the time he's back in his dorm after the required open house meeting (and skipping the welcome dinner, because he just could not “people” any longer) Sam has a free water bottle, the first picture ID he’s ever possessed, and an entire future laid out before him. 

He’s never been more scared in his life, and he’s faced Shtrigas and Wendigos. The only difference was: in those circumstances he had Dean with him. 

2\. _Going to California with an aching in my heart_

The night all hell broke loose was the best night of Sam’s life. It is also, simultaneously, the worst. Sam never thought he could be filled with such a cascade of conflicting emotions, despite having pretty much predicted this exact outcome. His dad wasn’t a rational man by any means. He was obsessive, compulsive and possessed the world’s shortest fuse; Sam could not wait to get out from under his thumb. But although he'd predicted the anger and the yelling (they’d been rehearsing similar scenes for the better part of two years now), Sam hadn’t necessarily anticipated the ultimatum. He had wanted a break free from his father, sure, but that didn’t mean Sam never wanted to see the man again. 

And then, there was Dean. 

Peacemaker Dean, level-headed Dean. Father, mother, and brother all-in-one Dean. It was all but impossible for Sam to put into words the way he felt about his brother. Yet, ironically, being able to achieve exactly that was one of the reasons Sam received a full ride to Stanford (aside from always managing to keep up his studies, despite his fucked-up education history). The topic of his college essay was “discuss your personal hero and why.” A thousand words spilled miraculously and fluidly from Sam’s pen as he waxed rhapsodic on why Dean Winchester was the greatest person to walk the earth, while still managing to keep many details vague or twisting the truth some. 

And now, Sam was leaving him, of his own volition. 

Dean caught up with him while Sam was a mile down the highway and still fifteen away from the nearest bus station. He hadn’t cared, he’d just stormed out as soon as Dad issued that ultimatum and hadn’t looked back. No money, no clothes, and no goodbye to the one person he didn’t want to have to say goodbye to. 

The rumble of the Impala’s engine was unmistakable. Dean rolled the window down as he eased up alongside Sam and sighed, eyes looking suspiciously red even in the darkness. 

“Packed you a duffle. Get in.” 

Sam’s heart leaped into his throat as he swallowed hard and willed his feet to move. 

“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, Sammy,” Dean said once Sam was seated.“You’re honestly just like him.” 

“I’m nothing like him,” Sam quietly protested while (stubbornly, yes) looking out at the cornfields. 

“Keep on tellin’ yourself that.” Dean snorted and shifted into drive, but didn’t move the car. Sam was forced to look at him then, fear clawing at his insides. 

Dean’s face was shattered, and Sam nearly broke down sobbing just at the sight of it. 

“Am I really taking you to the bus station? You really want to do this, Sammy?” 

“It’s Sam,” he replied. It was a weak deflection, sure, but it had sort of become _theirs_. 

“Fuck that,” Dean replied, no mirth or fondness in his voice.“You’ve known for a while now, haven’t you.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

“Only a month. I had to use Pastor Jim’s address, and he didn’t open it and we only saw him again last month. So… just a month, Dean.” 

“Just a month,” Dean repeated numbly. “And you sprung it on us now when your orientation is in a week. When you certainly applied _way more than a month ago_.” 

“I… didn’t know how to tell you.” 

“Maybe the truth,” Dean scoffed and finally took his foot off the brake. 

They were silent for at least five minutes before Sam broke. “I was hoping you’d go with me.” 

It was a adolescent fantasy and made him feel so much younger than his eighteen years, but it was the god's honest truth. The two of them, out from under Dad’s rule, able to live their own lives but still be together. 

“Go with you,” Dean repeated dully. “This ain’t some chick flick, Sammy. How do you expect me to just up and leave dad?” 

_How do you expect me to leave you?_ Sam wanted to counter. It was unreasonable, because, regardless, he _was_ leaving. No matter that the act just might slash him in two. . 

“Dad is toxic, Dean. You deserve so much more. We both do.” 

Dean stopped at a light and turned to look at him. “Family is family. It’s all we have.” The raw emotion in Dean’s voice and his half-shadowed face in the dimness of the night were two things Sam knew he’d never forget. “But I guess we aren’t enough for you,” Dean finished quietly. 

Dean had no idea just how “enough” he was for Sam, but if he spilled those particular beans tonight he might just as _well_ stay gone for good. 

“I should be able to have both,” he whispered instead. “We both should.” 

“College isn’t in my future, Sammy.” 

Sam sighed at the age and resignation in Dean’s voice and went back to looking out the window. 

When they pulled up to the bus station, Sam felt paralyzed. Dean shifted into park, but neither of them moved. The fluorescent lights from the station were ever-present through the Impala’s windshield, and Sam was hit with the terrifying thought that he might never sit in this car again, might never see his brother again. 

Before he could respond, Dean shifted and placed something in his hand. “Here. Take it.” 

Sam looked down at the wad of rolled up bills. “Did Dad…” 

Dean shook his head, once. 

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, chest expanding with emotion. “Dean…” 

He trailed off on a sob and blindly reached across the seat, tugging Dean in and thrusting his face into the leather of Dean's jacket. 

“Hey now, cut that out, Sammy. Stanford boys don’t cry.” 

Dean’s arm came around him awkwardly, his hand curving under Sam’s armpit. Sam inhaled, sniffling hard. “Yeah? You know many Stanford boys?” 

“Know one,” Dean replied after a beat. The fondness that was missing earlier was now there in spades. It merely made Sam cry harder. 

“Hey,” Dean said once more, softly. “Come on. I’m… look, you know I’m not happy and I kinda want to punch you right now, but I’m also… I’m proud of you.” 

Sam’s breathing hitched and he grabbed at Dean harder, fingers digging into the back of his neck, over the collar of his jacket. 

Sam pulled back, licking his lips and wanting so much more than he could have. Dean raised his hand, carded his fingers in Sam’s hair. 

“You need a haircut,” Dean whispered, like talking too loudly would shatter the cocoon they were creating in this front seat. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied, as though he agreed; they both knew he didn’t. 

His eyes were on Dean’s mouth, and so he saw the moment Dean inhaled shakily. 

“Sammy…”

Their foreheads were practically touching. Sam closed his eyes and lifted his head before slowly reopening them again. There was a sea of emotion raging in Dean’s gaze. Sam’s pulse jumped in his neck and, like a magnet's pull, he felt himself drawn even closer. 

Dean was breathing hard, moving with him, eyes never yielding focus. There was barely any space between them now and Sam could swear his own body was letting off sparks. The sounding of a nearby car horn broke whatever spell they’d fallen under. Dean jumped backward immediately, eyes wide. He ran a (unsteady) hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “C’mon. We gotta get you a ticket.” 

Sam merely stared as Dean opened the door, poleaxed. It was the closest and farthest he’d come to everything he'd ever wanted since another late night in the Impala a little over a year earlier. Sam had no idea what was going on in Dean’s head. But you don’t ask your older brother, “hey, did we almost just kiss?” and so Sam got out of the car, stomach churning and anxiety building under the realization that this was it, his one shot, and he was going to let it pass by. Sweep it under the rug and never speak of it again, in pure Winchester fashion. 

“I’ll talk to dad,” Dean said as they stood outside the ticket booth. “He was just talkin’ out his ass, you’ll see, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, too focused on the fact that Dean hadn’t met his eyes since… then. 

“I have my burner phone, okay, just call or text your dorm address or whatever.” 

Dean was bouncing on the soles of his feet now. It was so out of character that Sam almost didn’t recognize him. 

“Right, okay,” he replied absently. 

Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder. The action said “it’ll be okay" and “please don’t make this weird” and “I care about you,” all at once. If Sam hadn’t already realized he was in love with his brother, that would’ve been the moment he fell. 

Ticket bought, bag in hand, and all-aboard called meant there was nothing left to do but say goodbye. Dean tried to go for the manly bro hug, a explicit act of distancing, but Sam didn’t allow it. He grabbed tight and held Dean to him. Dean tensed before breathing out a sigh into Sam’s hair. They were the same height now, but Sam was still growing. The thought of being taller than Dean one day was a surreal one. The thought that he might not be around him to know it was even odder. 

Sam’s senses were filled with _Dean Dean Dean_ as they embraced. Sam would bottle his smell and cement his texture if he could. 

“You be good,” Dean said, voice rough. “Don’t go breaking too many hearts.”

 _Nah, just my own_ , Sam thought. He forced a laugh because it was what Dean wanted before hauling him in even tighter. Then, just as quickly, Sam let go before he could do something neither of them could take back. 

It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. That seemed to be the evening’s theme.

3\. _And the plan means nothing stays the same_

At Sam’s meeting with his advisor the day after orientation, she lets him know he needs to declare his major by spring of his Sophomore year. 

“What are your interests, Sam?” she asks, voice filled with kind curiosity. Sam wasn’t used to someone asked him what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be. 

He genuinely had no clue. 

His paralyzed silence is apparently a dead giveaway. “It’s alright; take a look at the academic course book you received at orientation and see what speaks to you. You need to enroll in twelve units by the first day of classes.” 

Sam nods; he completed some of the reading, but it was just all so much to take in. “I’ll probably take a language class… since that’s a first-year requirement, right?” 

“It is,” she replies, looking far too proud that he knew that. Well, he was a researcher by nature he supposed. 

“I think I’ll take Latin…” Sam says, pointedly omitting that he already knows quite a bit of it. He might as well utilize some of the tools hunting life provided him with to his advantage. He thinks Dean would be proud of that. 

_Dean_.

His advisor is still speaking but Sam’s miles away now, it hitting him like a hammer that he’s _here_ and Dean isn’t. There won’t be anyone making him Mac and Cheese when he comes home for classes, or passing by the sofa and giving him noogies. 

Sam leaves his academic advising meeting with a mixture of emotions, his mind admittedly more on his screwed up family situation rather than all the things he needed to do to get his life on track. He sits down at the desk in his dorm room and begins researching, making lists, reading up on deadlines and expectations and countless course options. Three hours later, he has twelve units and three courses selected: Latin, Greek Philosophy, and Genres of the Novel. He’s definitely no closer to determining what he’d ultimately want to major in, but it was kind of thrilling to just… be able to choose whatever he wanted to study. There’s a sense of freedom to it that Sam has never before felt. He’s still scared as fuck and missing his brother with an aching in his bones. Yet, for the first time since stepping off the bus at the Palo Alto station, Sam is also excited. 

4\. _At the drive-in, double feature_

Sam wouldn’t have even thought about going to his Junior Prom if Dean hadn’t harped on it. There wasn’t much of a point. He’d only been at that school a few months, still felt awkward and strange. Dean would pick him up from school most days; Sam got the most attention when his classmates were asking about his big brother with the cool car and pretty eyes. 

“I’m just sayin’, you should do some regular cheesy high school things in your life, Sammy. And a Junior Prom is one of those things. 

“Uh-huh. What’s your angle?” 

Dean didn’t really care too much about “normal”. He only seemed to mind picking up and leaving a place because of Sam. Otherwise, he was as much as a candle in the wind as their dad, no roots, no commitments. 

“Alright, you got me. Suzanne’s little sister Kelly is apparently into you.” 

Sam blinked for multiple reasons. One, he had no idea Dean was still seeing Suzanne. Two, that made it a week which was a lifetime for Dean Winchester and “relationships.” 

Sam couldn’t exactly recall just when his brother became all about hooking up whenever and wherever he could. Dean wasn’t always like that. He actually seemed pretty shy around girls for a while, from what Sam could remember. And then suddenly, like a light being switched on, he became this smooth guy who could charm anyone on two legs. 

It’d made Sam uneasy when he’d first started noticing it, like Dean was wearing a mask for others and worse, wearing one around Sam, too. It was only when it was just the two of them, away from dad, the subject of girls, and the hunt that Sam felt he truly had his brother. He'd missed him sometimes, even though he was right there. 

Dean talking about Suzanne gave Sam that same uneasy feeling, but for a different reason entirely. 

“Kelly Wilson has never looked twice at me,” Sam mumbled. 

Dean snorted. “Maybe we should cut those bangs of yours, Sammy, think you’re going blind.” 

Dean’s words made something hot coil inside Sam and he forced it down. “Whatever. You just wanna get laid.” 

“Damn straight I do. Been a week and we’re only at third base.” 

The hot feeling in his belly intensified and twisted. “How terrible for you,” Sam bitched, staring out the window but not seeing anything. 

Sam only had his first kiss last year; Amy. The memory of it all still hurt. Dean had been the one to give him advice on how to talk to her, Sam hesitantly asking the question through the wires of the phone. Dean had sounded pleased as punch, voiced filled with bravado and pride, until the very end of the conversation when he’d quietly said, “Just be careful, okay, Sammy?” 

Sam hadn’t thought about what he might have meant until after everything went down with Amy and her mom. When it had become a hunt rather than a teenage romance. Dean couldn’t have known what was going to happen and to this day Sam still hadn’t told him. Yet perhaps some part of Dean still knew Sam would end up feeling the inklings of heartache. It'd made him question why Dean had never talked about proms or homecoming experiences of his own. Why he dropped out rather than finishing out his last semester of high school. 

Sam knew Dean made sacrifices, especially for him, but sometimes he had to wonder just how deep those went and if Dean ever harbored any regrets. 

“Kelly told Suzanne they need a few more chaperones and we’re willing to volunteer. If you go as Kelly’s date, that is.” 

Sam snapped out of his thoughts at Dean’s words. Junior Prom with his brother there, probably stealing the entire show, garnering everyone’s attention when Sam desired it only for himself. 

“Yeah. Okay.” Kelly was nice, from all of the few words they’d spoken in chem lab. She just… wasn’t exactly what Sam wanted. 

Sam could never have _that_ , anyway.  
__________________________

Dean didn’t dress up, it wasn’t his style, but Suzanne did. A short cocktail dress and high heels. Dean smiled wide at her and kissed her cheek, his arm low around her waist. Sam stood awkwardly near the rear passenger door of the Impala, donning the too-big suit Dean found for him in a thrift store. He awkwardly pinned a corsage on Kelly, hoping he wouldn’t prick her with the pin due to his shaking hands. Her dress went to just above her knees, yellow with flower prints. She looked pretty, and Sam’s palms were slippery as he finished his task. 

Dean clapped his hands and said, “Let’s get shakin’” and Suzanne laughed. Sam ignored the ugly twist in his stomach that was only getting more common. 

Prom was boring. Sam didn’t dance, it made him feel awkward. He’d just turned seventeen a few weeks ago and he was getting even more lanky, all long limbs and aching bones. Dad had forgotten and Dean had baked him the world’s worst cake. Sam hadn’t stopped smiling all day, despite how bad it tasted. 

Dean and Suzanne stood on the sidelines, flirting while chaperoning. Every so often, Dean would look over to where Sam was sitting uncomfortably with Kelly on the gym’s bleachers and shoot a grin him and thumbs up. Sam shook his head, a helpless smile forming on his face. Dean was such a dork sometimes. Sam loved that most about him. 

“This music kinda sucks,” Kelly said when the track switched from one of Sam’s favorite Pearl Jam songs to one of his favorite Nirvana ones. He opened his mouth before closing it again, realization dawning. Sam whipped his head toward Dean, who was tapping his foot absently and drinking punch. 

He’d noticed Dean talking to the DJ earlier but hadn’t thought anything of it. Sam’s heart hammered in his chest. Dean was constantly making fun of his music (“This grunge shit is just imitation rock, Sammy. You need some more Floyd and Zeppelin in your life”) so the fact that Dean had done this for him -- to make Sam comfortable or happy or whatever -- was a lot. 

Sam stared so long in Dean’s direction that Dean finally looked over, eyebrow raised and head nodding to the left, indicating Kelly he supposed. 

_Kelly, who?_ Sam thought and smiled at his brother, big and wide. Dean blinked, face going through a variety of expressions, some of which Sam had never seen before. He watched Dean run a hand through his hair and look away, swallowing hard. 

Sam licked at his suddenly dry lips, body singing. 

“Sam? Are you okay?” 

He looked over at Kelly and nodded blindly, forcing a smile. 

“Yeah. I’m good.” 

_I’ve just been in love with my brother for nearly four years and every single day I try to get over him and then he does something like this_ Sam thought. _Perfectly fine and good_. 

Except his time, it was different. For the first time, it didn’t feel like Sam was alone in this abyss of impossible feelings.

Sam was lost in his own head the rest of the dance and Dean didn’t look at him again until they were back in the car. 

(Suzanne had come over after the one and only dance between Sam and Kelly -- a slow one, in which he had no idea where to put his hands and stepped on her feet multiple times -- to ask if they wanted to split and go to the drive-in. “Dean wants to see that Frequency movie. The one with like, ghosts or something.” Of course Dean did. It was a bad idea. An absolute terrible idea. Sam had said yes anyway.)

The drive-in was fine for a while, until Suzanne put her head on Dean’s shoulder and started kissing his neck. Kelly, apparently taking cues from her sister, followed suit by doing the same to Sam. Dean’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and Sam felt the gaze like an electric shock. He kept his eyes on Dean, watched as Dean’s own gaze fell to where Kelly’s mouth was, biting lightly above the collar of his shirt. 

Then Dean groaned loudly and turned to kiss Suzanne, deep and hard. Sam shut his eyes against the pink of tongue and the soft sounds happening in the front seat. His dick was getting hard. He hadn’t even touched Kelly yet, acutely aware of the ultimate cause of his desire.

“Sam,” Kelly whispered, looking up at him with dark eyes and red lips. Sam leaned in and kissed her, squeezing his eyes shut again. This time, though, he forced himself to listen. He heard a deep moan that was absolutely Dean. He heard a giggle that absolutely wasn’t. The movie was still pumping through the speakers of the Impala, but no one was paying attention. 

Kelly shifted onto his lap, grinding into his now rock hard erection. Sam allowed himself to look at the front seat and almost wished he hadn’t. Because Suzanne was nowhere to be seen and Dean… Dean’s eyes were still observing him in the rearview. It was obvious what was happening, from Dean’s parted lips and blown-wide gaze, but it was still jarring to know his brother was getting head a few feet away from him all the while watching Sam.

Sam watched back, looking at Dean over Kelly’s shoulder as she licked and sucked at his earlobe. Sam whimpered and Dean’s eyes got even wider. His hips lifted upward and Sam could just imagine Suzanne’s mouth hot and tight around Dean’s dick, sucking him down as he pushed up to meet her. He thought about doing the same, what Dean’s dick would feel like beneath his tongue. If his hands would feel different in Sam’s hair in that context or if it’d be exactly like when Dean used to calm him from a nightmare.

Dean was still looking at Sam when Suzanne lifted her head and kissed Dean, filthy and hard. Dean groaned loudly, shifting them so she was on her back in the front seat. Kelly moaned in Sam’s ear. Sam’s dick jumped in his suit pants as he witnessed flashes of skin while Dean rearranged himself and pulled off his T-shirt. 

“Sam,” Kelly whispered, her hand on his fly. “Do you wanna?” 

Sam blinked at her. “Um.” 

“Sammy,” Sam heard and that -- that was not Kelly. No one said his name that way. No one ever would. 

Sam looked over her shoulder with hazy eyes to find Dean extending his hand. Sam reached forward and their fingers touched. The contact was electric, more so than Kelly's kisses, and Dean’s eyes widened a bit more. 

Sam withdrew his hand away quickly, fingering the foil wrapper now in his palm. Then Suzanne’s arms reached upward and tugged Dean down. 

“Okay,” Sam whispered and let her do all the work. He had no clue if Kelly had done this before or just watched a ton of movies or gotten advice from her sister, but Sam was grateful she was taking control of the situation. Dean seemed to finally be getting to fourth base himself; Sam saw his brother moving rhythmically in the front seat, muscles in his back straining while Suzanne’s hands ran over them. 

Sam kept his eyes on Dean, desperately wanting Dean’s own gaze back on him. The moans from the front seat spurred on Sam’s arousal. He was about ready to pop by the time Kelly had rolled the condom on and began to sink down onto him. He fondled her breasts over her dress, almost abstractly, like they were some kind of science experiment. All of this didn’t feel like it was happening to him. She felt good, hot and tight around him and she made soft little sounds as she moved her hips. But it was Dean’s sounds that filled his ears. When Dean finally pulled back and sat up, slamming into Suzanne again and again and making her cry out, his eyes flitted over to Sam. His gaze was dark and hungry, chest bare save for the amulet Sam had given him years earlier, practically glowing in the near-darkness. Sam came on a gasp. 

He panted through his orgasm, body boneless. He gained some sense of his surroundings and realized he wasn’t certain if Kelly had come. He really hoped she had as he didn’t want to be that kind of guy. But he also couldn’t lie and say she’d been his main source of focus during the act. Burning shame crept over him as she climbed off him and threw the condom out the window. Dean and Suzanne had finished sometime during Sam’s orgasm. Sam hated that he’d missed Dean coming, and recklessly wondered if his own orgasm had done anything to trigger it. 

No one spoke in the aftermath or during the ride home. The car stunk of sex and sweat and Sam felt hungover. Suzanne kissed Dean when he pulled up to the house and Kelly did the same to Sam. 

“I had a great time,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” Sam replied helplessly.

Sam got into the front seat when she left, tried not to think about Dean and Suzanne on it thirty minutes before. 

“Can’t believe you got laid on your first date when it took me like five.” Dean’s voice was rough and wrung out. 

“Sucks to be you,” Sam replied, calmer than he felt. 

“You’re a man now, Sammy,” Dean said as they walked up to the apartment they were living in, clapping Sam on the back. He sounded as terrified as Sam felt. 

They didn’t talk about it again. Dean acted as though the heated gazes and too-long stares hadn’t happened and Sam tried forgetting about the way Dean sounded while he was fucking someone.

Sam had sex with Kelly a few more times prior to the end of the school year. He got more into it and learned how to make a girl come, but the entire time his heart was somewhere else. It just left him feeling empty. Dean apparently broke it off with Suzanne a few days after the drive-in. Sam assumed it was because his brother wanted to keep up his reputation as a player, but he never officially asked why. He was honestly too afraid to. 

They left Indiana after school ended and Sam cemented a few truths in his mind: that he wasn’t built for casual relationships and he’d never care about anyone the way he cared about his brother.

That summer tensions with Dad reached an all-time high. Even more than the summer Sam had run away to Flagstaff, wanting so desperately to experience something, _anything_ else than watching his brother get bloodied from hunts and his Dad drink himself to sleep at night. 

Sam made an active decision to apply for colleges during his senior year. He couldn’t stay any longer, not with Dad’s obsessive and reckless behavior. Not when he was putting both Dean and Sam in danger on the regular. Sam hoped he'd get in somewhere, hoped maybe Dean would go with him. It was hard, living with this longing inside his bones. It was harder still when he had to continually keep himself from thinking about that night in May. He sometimes believed Dean might be right there with him in these feelings. 

Sam didn’t want to leave his brother. But he knew that if it came down to getting out and gaining some sense of normalcy for once, he was going to take it with or without him. 

5\. _And sometimes lonely hearts they just get lonelier_

Sam quickly establishes a routine. He eats lunch at Tresidder Union or the GSB. He sits in Meyer Library, either studying or reading for pleasure. He goes to the Stanford Theater once a week, watching whatever classic film they happen to be showing. He takes advantage of the gym, working out to keep up the conditioning he gained during his sparring and training sessions with Dean. He talks to some people from classes (even has lunch with a few) but instantly discovers his discomfort as even small talk results in a web of lies. He receives an A on his first paper and loses himself in learning as much as he can.

He lies in his dorm room listening to mix tapes he made over the years, from CDs he'd take out of the library. He can picture Dean so clearly, sitting on the edge of the bed, sharpening a knife while ribbing Sam for his "whiny acoustic music tastes". He tours the observation deck of Hoover Tower, feeling incredibly small at the sight of mountains and campus off in the distance. Someone tells him on a clear day you can see San Francisco; Sam hums and wonders which city his brother might be in today.

He goes to coffee shops and ducks his head when baristas smile at him. He takes the Caltrain to San Francisco one weekend and stops by Amoeba Music, thumbing through some of the cassette tapes Dean himself owns, which overflow the Impala's glove compartment and spill onto the floor.

He buys the Black album and pops it into his Walkman on the train ride back to Palo Alto, thinking of his brother and the way he'd always hum along to Nothing Else Matters, rapping his fingers on the steering wheel and smiling.

He tries on normal and finds himself longing for certain parts of the life he's left behind. 

Just as his loneliness hits an all time high, Dean begins sending him postcards. They aren’t much, a generic landmark of wherever the job has taken them and usually one sentence, things like _Winchesters: 1 Cursed Doll: 0 - D_ , but it’s enough. Sam likes that Dean is keeping him up-to-date on their location and what they’re hunting. It used to be his biggest fear in the world: that Dean and Dad wouldn’t come back one day. That Sam would be left to track down their bodies, give them a hunter’s burial, and mourn. They were morbid thoughts for a thirteen-year-old to have, but he couldn’t help it. Eventually, his biggest fear became not only losing Dad and Dean but becoming them. Of never knowing anything else.

College was his escape route, but it also felt like a betrayal. 

Sam isn't sure if Dean was still angry or, worse, hated him. Or maybe even worse than that: resented him. But the fact that he's sending postcards, and the fact that he’s answered the few texts (however badly) that Sam has sent has to mean something. Still, Sam misses the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean never picked up the handful of times Sam had tried calling, and he’d ended up babbling nervously into the voicemail. 

Sam should’ve known Dean would finally call him on November 2nd, about seven weeks after they last saw one another. Sam hated to admit that he forgot the day this year. It didn't resonate with him the way it did Dad and Dean. Sam had no memory of his mother and had only seen a handful of photos to reveal what she looked like. 

So when Dean calls at 11pm PST, drunk and slurring his words, Sam knows exactly why. 

“Weird you not being here today,” Dean says without preamble. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m aces, Samuel.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s Dad?”

“Out,” Dean replies shortly. 

Sam winces. Their father never dated; he was too obsessed with his quest to avenge their mom’s death to even consider the act of moving on. But that didn’t mean the man was a monk. Sam never saw anything (he’d kept it pretty off-site) except for the one time he’d awoken to a fight between Dean and Dad. Dean had called him out for stumbling in drunk with a half-naked woman under his arm while his fifteen-year-old son slept in the room next door. That was Dean, habitually thinking of Sam and never himself. 

Dean lost his temper that night in a way Sam had never heard before. It wasn’t until the following day that Sam realized why: it was the night of the anniversary. Clearly, it had hurt Dean to think of Dad easing his pain that way. In Dean’s world their parents were made for each other and it ended there, full stop. For all that Dean made fun of chick flicks and adopted a player’s persona, deep down Sam was beginning to realize his brother was a bonafide monogamous romantic. He just happened to be raised into a life that never gave him the chance to be one. 

“Where are you guys?”

“Toledo. Possible poltergeist.” 

Sam nods even though Dean can’t see him. 

“How’re your classes? You uh, your voicemail mentioned Latin.” 

So he’d listened and hadn’t called back. Sam tries not to feel hurt. 

“Yep. Thought you’d appreciate that.” 

“That’s my boy, takin’ the easy way out.” 

Sam flushes, sinking further down on his mattress. “They're uh, alright. I’m still getting adjusted to it all.” 

“Uh-huh. S’raining here. You know, Mom loved the rain.” 

“I don’t,” Sam answers quietly, “know that.” 

Dean hums. “Yeah. Guess you don’t. He never wanted to talk about her, never wanted _me_ to talk about her. Weird, huh? Doin’ all this for Mom, yet acting like she didn’t even exist.” 

Sam blinks, surprised by Dean’s blatant criticism of their father. He must _really_ be drunk. 

Dean continues on before Sam can respond. “But she did. Like, I don’t remember much. I was only four, you know, but she loved the sound of it. Remember her tapping along before going outside on the back porch and dancing in it. She was a good dancer.” 

Sam closes his eyes and can almost see the scene, so clearly. “Don’t even have a picture of her.” The words leave his lips before he even realizes he was forming them. Sam knew Dad had kept a few things. He also knew Dean himself had a picture or two. But Sam had left with nothing, only the duffle Dean packed for him. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, quietly. “Well. You’re lucky you don’t remember her.” 

Sam winces. That was one way to put it, he supposed. 

“You should come visit,” Sam blurts out of nowhere. He’s not quite sure where it comes from. Probably because he’s actually _talking_ to Dean. Everything between them still feels so fraught, like Dean might come to his senses any second and hang up the phone, placing the distance back between them not just physically but emotionally. He knows Dean is keeping him at arm's length. Sam still isn't sure if it's because Sam left him or because of the _night_ he left. When he isn’t studying or trying to find his way around campus, he’s obsessing over that moment in the car. 

“Sure, I’ll come hang with Steve Jobs while you go to class.” 

Sam lets out an annoyed breath. Sometimes he forgets how infuriating his brother truly is. “I’m not in class 24 hours a day, Dean.”

“I’m trying to hold the remainder of this family together here, Sam. I can’t go marching off to California just because you decided to go Ivy League.” 

“That’s not your job!” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, “gotta be somebody’s, huh.” 

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Yeah, Dean. Dad’s. Ever think about that? It’s _his_ job to take care of us, not the other way around.” 

“You’re so fucking selfish sometimes,” Dean says, voice hard. 

“And you’re too fucking forgiving.” 

Now it’s Dean’s turn to sigh. “Look. I’m not saying never, okay? I -- I wanna see you, Sammy. But not now. Dad’s still -- he’s really fucking pissed, alright? Let me get him to calm down and maybe in the summer we can come out there, pick you up.” 

“I might have classes.” 

“What? Don’t you have summer break?” 

“Well, yeah, technically. But Stanford is on a quarter system which leaves no real break time if you decide to take summer courses.” 

“And you might take them,” Dean replies flatly. 

“Maybe, I dunno.” 

Sam thought about it, figured he probably didn’t have anywhere else to go and needed the housing anyway. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes, sounding disgusted. “It’s like you just wanna wash your hands of us.” 

Sam sputters. “What? Dude, I _just_ asked you to come out here!” 

“Right, right. Your top priority, clearly.” Sam can hear liquid being poured into a glass, recognizes Dean taking a long gulp. 

“Dean, c’mon, man. Lay off the booze for the night.” 

“Not my mother,” Dean slurs. “Oh right, she died eighteen years ago tonight and our dad is out getting laid.” 

Sam stares up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. “Dean... “

“Can’t believe Dad is getting action. You know the last time I’ve seen any action, Sammy?” 

Sam didn’t and, honestly, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to. 

Dean keeps going though, on a drunken roll now. “Two weeks before you left, that’s how long. Was working at that garage, fucked a chick after hours who had come in for an oil change, on the hood of one of the cars.” 

Sam’s mouth falls open a bit, surprised both by the fact that Dean hasn’t hooked up since Sam left and also at his dalliance. He can picture it so vividly, especially since he _knew_ what Dean looked like during sex. That knowledge is something Sam is both cursed and blessed with on a daily basis. 

Sam tries not to read too into the other part of Dean’s words. The part that causes him wonder if his absence is why Dean hasn’t tried to be with someone. 

“She was sweet. Looked a little like Suzanne.” 

Sam freezes. They haven’t mentioned Suzanne or Kelly or _that night_ since it happened well over a year ago. Dean’s drunken blather continues, while Sam can only stare at nothing and be grateful he doesn’t have a roommate this quarter. 

“You remember, Sammy? Junior Prom? Can’t believe you lost it in my baby’s backseat. In good company, there, since I did too.” 

Sam blinks, thunderstruck. For all they’ve talked about sex, Dean never personalized it with Sam. There was so much about his brother’s sexual history that Sam had no idea about. He had no idea when Dean’s first kiss was or who it was with. And he certainly hadn't known when and where Dean lost his virginity. And now he’s just -- spilling his guts to Sam in a way he never used to, drunk and defenses down, while feeding all of Sam's deepest perversions. 

“You been gettin’ any at Stanford, college boy?” 

Sam makes an indigent sound, hating that his dick has decided to take a steady interest in all of this. “N-no, uh,” he croaks out. “Kinda busy.” 

Dean snorts. “Never too busy for pussy, man.”

Sam groans. “You’re so charming, Dean.” 

“You love it,” Dean says, barely coherent at this point. “God, I need somethin’ besides my own hand. Need…”

Sam nearly chokes. Is Dean… could he possibly be...

Sam’s dick is straining against the zipper of his jeans now and he bites his lip to keep from making a sound. 

“That night,” Dean starts and Sam holds his breath. For long seconds, Dean has no follow-up. Sam briefly wonders if he’s fallen asleep until he hears Dean groan. “You -- shit, couldn’t help watch you. Have to watch out for you, Sammy. Make sure you’re okay. You looked okay.” 

“Dean…” Sam breathes out, heart pounding in his ears. He slides his hand slowly down his stomach, presses over the bulge in his pants. 

“You were watching too, right? Saw you... “

“Yeah,” Sam says, barely audible. Fear builds at the base of his spine, licking up in hot furls. He shouldn’t voice this, even if Dean might not remember in the morning. Dean is drunk and he shouldn’t -- he can’t… 

“God, Sammy, you just-- you make me…”

Sam moans then, unable to help himself. 

He hears Dean inhale sharply. “Are you -- Sam, _are_ you?” 

Dean sounds soberer in that moment than he has all night, need and an air of desperation filling his voice. 

“Yeah,” Sam gasps. “Yes. Dean, please.” 

“Fuck, Sammy. Just -- don’t. Just lemme hear you, okay? Fuck, the sounds you made that night.” 

Sam groans and quickly gets his dick out, whimpering when his palm meets bare skin. He licks it quickly before gripping himself again.

“You too,” Sam says. “Dean, you too.” He doesn’t know if he means he wants to hear Dean or that Dean sounded hotter than sin that night as well, but it doesn’t matter. Both things were true, and Sam can barely believe this is happening. 

“Don’t,” Dean says again, and Sam frowns. “Just -- Sam.” 

Sam’s never been so confused during a jerk-off season, but he doesn’t question the nonsensical rambles of his intoxicated brother. He just keeps pumping his dick and listening aptly at the soft, intense moans coming through the phone. 

Dean sounds even better than that night over a year ago; like he’s about to fly apart at the seams. Sam would kill to see him right now, to know if he’s naked or merely has his pants kicked down and his shirt raked up. 

“Feels good,” Sam says because he has to say _something_. 

Dean produces an injured noise, and Sam can _hear_ the slick slap of hand against skin. Pre-come spurts from the head of his dick and he tugs even harder. 

“Sam,” Dean gasps. “Sammy. Miss you, asshole.” 

Sam closes his eyes and bites his lip hard enough to taste blood. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean cries out and Sam knows he’s coming, feels it in his own bones. He comes a moment later, gasping Dean’s name and feeling the sensation into his toes. 

They’re both breathing hard afterward. In the afterglow, Sam is hyper-aware of his brother in a way that he wasn’t that night of prom. Can catalog every particular puff of breath and soft sound. 

“Shit,” Dean whispers, far too alert for someone who just came and was still drunk off his ass. 

“Dean,” Sam starts. Dean cuts him off. 

“We -- fuck, Sammy, I’m sorry. I was just -- I’m so drunk, man.” 

Sam’s chest feels tight. “Dean, don’t.” 

“And horny. Drunk and horny, right.” 

“Please don’t do this,” Sam whispers, staring again at the ceiling like it contains the answers to this fucked-up and impossible situation. "Don't make this another thing we don't talk about." 

Dean laughs humorlessly. “Think I already did it, Sammy.” His voice sounds muffled, and Sam can tell he's dragging his hand over his face. 

“I wasn’t exactly a bystander here.” If anything, Sam is the one to blame for letting it go this far, seeing as he was the sober one. 

Dean snorts. “You’re my baby brother. I’m supposed to -- I’m not supposed to -- shit, Sam.” 

Sam sits up and grabs some tissues from his bedside table, dabbing at the mess on his stomach. “I haven’t been a baby in a long fucking time, man.” 

“Sam--” 

“You have no idea how much I… Dean, you just don’t know.” 

Dean sighs heavily and Sam detects movement on the end of the line. “I can’t do this, Sammy. You’re my brother and I -- can’t.” 

Sam nods, eyes immediately stinging. He knew this would happen. He fucking knew it. And if he’d closed the distance between them that night at the bus station -- allowing what he now knows for sure was an almost-kiss -- it merely would’ve happened sooner. 

Dean isn’t saying he doesn’t want to. No, his choice of wording is deliberate and for the millionth time, Sam curses his brother’s sense of responsibility and his gravitation toward sacrifice. 

Maybe Sam _is_ selfish. Because he’d seize this in a heartbeat, consequences be damned. Dean is the one thing besides “normal” that Sam has constantly wanted. Sam is acutely aware of how much those two things are in contrast to one another, and he doesn’t care. He can’t deny what’s in his heart and his bones.

Dean can, though. Dean can put this aside out of his sense of loyalty, responsibility, and family. Dean can be the martyr that Sam can’t. 

“Okay,” Sam says levelly. He wipes at his nose, sniffling softly. “Okay, Dean.” 

“This. You’ll see, Sammy. You -- you need to focus on school, okay? You don’t need my damaged ass.”

“I need both,” Sam says stubbornly. 

He hears Dean swallow audibly. “I -- look, I’ll call, okay. I promise.” 

Sam nods and sniffles some more. 

“Night, Sammy.” 

“Night, Dean.” 

Sam doesn’t sleep for hours, just replays everything in his head until the event begins to feel like a dream. 

A few days later, Sam receives an envelope in his mailbox with no return address. 

It’s a picture of his mom and dad. On the back, there’s Dean’s messy scrawl. 

_So you don’t forget what she looks like_

_-D_

Sam stares at the words and picture until he can no longer see, too blinded by tears. 

He pulls out his phone. 

_Thank you_ , he texts. 

Dean responds an hour later. 

_Always._

Sam smiles, heart heavy but not broken. He stops at the bookstore on the way back from Tresidder and buys a frame. 

6\. _Knockin’ on heaven’s door_

The summer that Sam was thirteen there was a huge carnival the next town over from the house they were renting. The Saturday before the 4th of the July they were going to be putting on a fireworks show. Sam wanted to go badly, not only to see them but to eat cotton candy and ride the twister and maybe even get a goldfish. Dad promised they would all go together. Then he'd arrived home in a rush, the night before the carnival, saying he'd gotten in a little too deep pool hustling and that they needed to pack. Now. 

Sam threw a fit and Dean tried to keep the peace as per usual. A few hours later they were in the car and leaving West Virginia, headed god knows were. 

Two nights later, in a shitty motel outside Charleston while Dad was at a bar down the road, Dean told Sam to get his shoes on and meet him in the car. 

Sam questioned where they were going the entire time, but Dean merely told him to shut his cake hole. They pulled up to an empty field, and Dean popped the trunk. Sam’s eyes widened when he realized what Dean was carrying. 

“Really? Dean, really?” 

Dean smiled fondly and ruffled his hair. “Really, Sammy. Now quit bein’ so much dead weight and help me set ‘em up.” 

Sam had, heart soaring. He hugged Dean hard that night, feelings a jumbled mess inside him. He felt things he'd never experienced before, not even at that Thanksgiving dinner with Maggie Parsons’ family.

Dean had done this for him, hadn't forgotten the 4th of July or how much Sam had wanted to go to that carnival. Sam realized then that no one would ever love him as much as Dean. No one would ever do the millions of little things Dean did for him, like shooting off fireworks in a field, stealing presents so he had something to open at Christmas, or giving up the last bowl of cereal. 

Standing there with his big brother, eyes on the bursting sky, Sam realized with both terror and elation what the main thing he'd been feeling was. 

It was falling in love. 

[End]


End file.
